


Bubbles and Burdens

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, It's a good thing Phryne has a sexy inspector to take her mind off her horrible family, Margaret is the worst, also snacking, seriously she deserves that bastard Henry, with smutty times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Phryne is stuck in London with her parent's and trying her best not to murder them. When Jack telephones to arrange a date, Phryne decides she just can't wait until tomorrow...





	Bubbles and Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks muchly to geenee27 for the beta and to aurora_australis for coming up with the title.
> 
> There is a very affectionate cat on my lap who will not let me do my final edit so any typos blame Ragnarok!

It had taken less than a week for the novelty of London to wear off. It was only late September and already the place was blanketed in a grey drizzle that trapped the grime of the city in the air. The atmosphere within the Fisher residence was easily as noxious; Phryne had already had enough of her father’s company to last a lifetime, but she had not counted on how much her mother’s presence would grate on her already frayed nerves.

Although they had often argued, particularly when Phryne had been a teenager, she had always felt a certain protectiveness towards her mother. Her mother - who had scraped together meagre meals and gone hungry, so her girls could eat. Her mother - who had taken to her bed for weeks after Janey had disappeared. With Henry deep in his cups by noon; it had been up to Phryne to care for her, and she had done as well as she could. Torn between guilt at leaving her mother alone, and guilt at not spending every waking moment searching for Janey. She did not think her mother remembered those days; she had been almost catatonic for most of them. She had certainly never shown any sign of gratitude for Phryne’s care once she had returned to herself.

The rise in the Fisher’s fortune and the move to London had improved Margaret’s health dramatically, but the Baroness was never shy about how terribly she suffered with her nerves. Next to criticising Phryne, a good nervous fit was one of her favourite forms of entertainment. She had reluctantly accepted her husband back into the house, primarily for the pleasure of complaining loudly at having had little more than a fortnight’s notice of his arrival. This meant she had had to ‘arrange everything’ - by which she meant instruct her very capable butler Jenkins to arrange everything, whilst she fussed and fretted and changed her mind six times about the right colour for the morning room curtains.

After an initial, enthusiastic welcome and a hug for the daughter she had not seen in nearly two years - Phryne had done her best to avoid her parents even when they shared a continent – Margaret’s first words to her were:

“My darling you look positively feral! That Australian sun must have aged you five years - I warned you it would! No wonder Prudence tells me you’re still single. We will have to see what we can do to make you fit for polite company.”

Phryne, who would not have taken that kind of rudeness from anyone else in the world, found herself uncustomarily speechless; she had forgotten in her absence, the casual cruelty Margaret could unleash, seemingly without realising it.

She hated her mother’s constant sniping, her melodramatic declarations that her daughter would never find a husband – as if she wanted one – her constant criticism of everything from her looks to her political opinions. It was one of the things that had convinced Phryne that the move to Melbourne would be a good idea. But despite it all, she still loved Margaret; she had no intention of changing who she was, but that did not stop her wishing privately for an approval from her mother that she could never hope to obtain.

Why she could never obtain it was something Margaret made no trouble to hide; she had never forgiven Phryne for not being Janey. Not Janey as she had been, the grubby, happy, carefree little sister that was just as willing to follow Phryne into trouble as Phryne had been to lead her. No, this was a Janey of Margaret’s own invention, the beautiful, proper, sophisticated woman she had convinced herself that Janey would have been, and with whom Phryne could never hope to compete. An irony, as the sisters had never competed when alive; they had always been a united front and Phryne at times – many, many times – had been more of a parent to Janey than either of the supposed adults who should have filled that role.

It was strange. Before Phryne had left England the year before, that knowledge, the understanding that she was not only responsible for Janey’s disappearance, but that she had also failed to fill the gaping chasm her death had left in her mother’s heart, had been a reason to excuse Margaret’s behaviour. Now, she felt it as an injustice in a way she had not done before. Perhaps Jack’s words to her all those months ago when she had accused herself of negligence, had finally taken hold.

 _I dismiss the charges_. He had said.

The only thing Margaret appeared willing to dismiss was Phryne’s assurances that she still had no interest in matrimony. She was almost entirely sure that was still true and was certainly not going to discuss whatever burgeoning relationship she had with Jack with her mother. Her father had already done his level best to ruin it and she didn’t want to give her mother her own shot at sabotage.

She would not have stayed in her parent’s house for long if she had had a choice. Parties and luncheons and meetings with old friends were all very well, but she had a life to get back to. She had _Jack_ to get back to. The thought made her smile whenever it crossed her mind, despite her mother’s tendency to proclaim loudly that too much smiling was the reason for the lines around Phryne’s eyes.

_“You’ll never have your sister’s looks but if you make a little effort it need not be too late you know. As long as you don’t set your standards too high.”_

Phryne had to bite back any number of retorts about her mother’s own standards, and the decades of unhappiness marriage had caused her – it was she after all who had brought Henry back in an effort to keep them together, a choice she regretted more with every passing day. She would brush her thumb softly against the blue enamel swallow pin she wore like a talisman, drawing from it the strength to keep her temper, not wanting to waste energy on another argument when there were more important things to spend it on.

The world was beginning to spin out of control, the news of the crash in America had her worried and she was determined to secure her own and her parents finances against what she was sure would be difficult years ahead. This had two unfortunate implications; she could not leave the country, and she could not move out of her parent’s house. Her own finances were already well managed, and it was simple enough to make a few adjustments to keep herself secure, but her parents were convinced that there was nothing to worry about. Given Henry’s propensity for profligate spending and ill-advised scheming, she needed to enlist her mother’s help to get him to see reason. Margaret, for all her many faults, was at least frightened enough by memories of Collingwood to take Phryne’s concerns seriously. However, if Phryne moved out to a hotel, as she sorely wanted to, Margaret would no doubt be insulted, and this would give Henry a chance to win her over.

Phryne’s days were exhausting, dull and no-one had had the decency to be murdered since she had arrived, although she could think of a couple of appealing candidates. Every problem seemed to spawn another, thanks mostly to her father’s utter inability to give a straight or honest answer to the simplest of questions, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

She had initially telegrammed Jack and told him not to follow her, that she planned to return to Melbourne in only a few weeks, hoping he would take it as an overture rather than a rebuttal. Once the crash hit, she had regretfully sent him a considerably longer telegram, explaining that she would be delayed by her parents’ financial matters and it could take some time, worried even as she did so that her inconsistency at this crucial juncture would be their undoing.

His reply was more than she had hoped for.

_Twelfth Night A3S3 (stop) JR_

She thought she knew the scene, although she had not committed as much Shakespeare to memory as he had; it was the part where Antonio follows Sebastian when he leaves for Orsino’s court. She had a feeling there was some banter about sight-seeing and then Antonio suggests he had gotten into some kind of legal trouble that could come back to haunt him?

She wasn’t entirely sure, and as it seemed unlikely that Jack was hiding a criminal past, she thought it best to look it up. The passage she found brought with it a strange mixture of relief and trepidation. He was coming after her, and he was no longer hiding his intentions.

 

> _I could not stay behind you. My desire,_
> 
> _More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth._
> 
> _And not all love to see you, though so much_
> 
> _As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,_
> 
> _But jealousy what might befall your travel,_
> 
> _Being skilless in these parts, which to a stranger,_
> 
> _Unguided and unfriended, often prove_
> 
> _Rough and inhospitable. My willing love,_
> 
> _The rather by these arguments of fear,_
> 
> _Set forth in your pursuit._

The darling man, he had a well-hidden sentimental streak, which never failed to touch her heart. She might have objected to ‘skilless in these parts’ and was certainly not without friends in London, but nevertheless it seemed almost ridiculously apt after weeks of attempting to wrangle her mother and father. She was not and would never be a woman in need of rescue, especially not from her parents - who were no-one’s responsibility but hers, but she was glad to know her Inspector was on his way all the same.

***

“Miss Fisher, there is an Australian gentleman on the telephone for you.”

Jenkins, the wheezing old retainer that had travelled up from Somerset on the purchase of the new town house, had none of Mr Butler’s warmth. Nevertheless, he was professional, competent and politely disinclined to become party to any ludicrous or criminal scheme her father might attempt to drag him into and as such she counted him as an ally.

“A Mr. Robinson, he said you would be expecting to hear from him.” He added. He was of course, far too professional to give her a knowing look, Phryne felt it was implied.

She didn’t run down the stairs, it was past 9pm; the house was quiet and she did not want to alert her mother, who would surely listen if she thought there was something worth overhearing, but her heart skipped a beat as she descended, and she couldn’t have kept the smile off her face if she tried.

“Jack?” she could barely believe it; his ship wasn’t due in for another week.

“Miss Fisher.”

Oh god how she had missed that voice, she felt a lump rise in her throat and had to fight it down and get a grip on herself before she could speak, suddenly realising that she had no idea what to say. Her heart was too full for words.

“You made remarkably good time, Inspector.” Her voice sounded wrong, over casual, false. She wanted to hold him, breathe him in, sink into the feeling of home that stirred in her as soon as she heard him.

“I may have switched to a faster boat once we reached the Mediterranean.” He admitted. “I didn’t want to give you time to fly off to Kuala Lumpur before I reached you.”

“You’re in London then?”

She was a little disappointed he hadn’t turned up at her door, late hour or no.

“Just reached my hotel. I thought perhaps I could take you to supper tomorrow night. If you have no other plans?”

“Planning to show me the sights Antonio?” she asked coyly, recalling his telegram.

“If you like. But there’s only one sight in London I’m interested in seeing.”

The low timbre of his words vibrated over her skin, there was no mistaking what that site might be. She shivered pleasantly at the thought, already considering her choice of lingerie. 

“That sounds promising.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6’o-clock then.”

“I’m looking forward to it already.”

“Goodnight, Phryne.”

“Goodnight.”

The whole conversation had taken barely a minute but in that short time everything had changed. Phryne felt like she had been jostled awake from some grey and petty nightmare, this stifling world of second guessing and manipulation, in which her intelligence went unnoticed and her energies unappreciated.

She looked down at the telephone. Tomorrow night. Of course, he would want to rest from his travels and refresh himself before seeing her, he would probably be exhausted after his long journey. That made sense. It did. And yet…she did not want to wait.

And why the devil should she? She had waited quite long enough.

He hadn’t given her the name of his hotel but that was hardly a barrier to a detective…

Without stopping to think, lest the cloying doubt that infested her parents godforsaken house took hold, she picked up the receiver again and asked for the operator.

***

Jack emerged from the little en suite bathroom in his hotel room, hair still wet from his bath and wrapped in a serviceable cotton dressing gown printed in a swirling pattern of blue and burgundy. The hotel was modest but comfortable and he had treated himself to room service just this once. It had been a long journey and he felt the need for another bite before bed, despite the lateness of the hour. After that he would need to get some rest, because tomorrow night it was quite possible, he would have company. His smile at the thought was more than a little wicked. Of course, he would not want to presume, but he was fairly sure Phryne Fisher would not refuse an invitation to his bed. Knowing her, she would issue herself the invitation before they finished dinner and leave him to catch her up.

He opened the door expecting to find a member of the hotel staff with a sandwich and a cup of warm milk. Instead he found Phryne Fisher, pushing a hospitality cart with a covered plate and what appeared to be a bottle of French champagne.

“Nightcap, Inspector?”

Jack closed his mouth, which had opened in surprise at the sight of her. She was wearing the mob cap and apron uniform he had seen on the hotel’s staff, although he doubted very much that she was in the establishment’s employ. He utterly failed in his attempt to look disapproving – _god he had missed her._

He stood aside and allowed her to wheel the cart into the room, closing and for good measure locking the door behind them. Whether she was here on business or pleasure (and you could never tell with Phryne Fisher) he was certain he did not want to be interrupted.

When he turned around, she was standing, looking oddly awkward as if she had not really planned this far ahead. She probably hadn’t, she never did. Determined that she shouldn’t think for a minute that whatever hare-brained scheme had brought her to his room at nearly 11pm was unwelcome, he stepped forward and pulled her at once into his arms. He moved in slowly enough to give her the chance to back away, not wanting to assume he would be welcome.

Evidently, he was because Phryne practically launched herself at him, frantically fisting hands into his hair, plundering his mouth with her tongue. It was glorious, overwhelming, a man could happily drown in that kind of attention and Jack had no desire to hold back; he held her close, his hand massaging the uncharacteristically course fabric of her dress and kissed her like his life depended on it.

When she attempted to undo the tie at his waist though, he stopped her. There was a manic, brittle edge to this ravishment that registered uncomfortably. Despite the way his body was insisting he ignore it and bed this glorious woman immediately, the detective in him would not let the matter lie, and when he pulled back to look at her, he was shocked to see tears shining in her eyes.

“Phryne, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Or nothing that hasn’t been happening since the moment I left Australia.” She wiped her eyes with a rough, self-recriminating gesture and breathed deeply as if to steady herself. “It’s good to see you, Jack.”

“I gathered that by the way you appear to have infiltrated my hotel room. That’s a very fetching outfit by the way, I assume you will be returning it before you leave?”

“The concierge was not disposed to be particularly helpful,” she offered, as if this was in any way an explanation, “luckily this place does not set much store by security.”

“You couldn’t have just asked them to call up to my room?”

“What and spoil the surprise?”

He laughed and drew her back into his arms; who would have thought that her capacity to infuriate him with her mad and reckless ways would be the thing he missed the most? She was impossible, wonderful, and he would not change her for the world. She had also lost her mob cap to their embrace, her hair was soft against his face as he hugged her close, he could smell her perfume, musk and jasmine, just as he remembered.

“God, I love you, ridiculous woman.”

He felt her freeze. He had not intended to say that, it had just slipped out on a tide of relief at seeing her again, at knowing she still wanted him. He backed off, ready to apologise, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable - not that it hadn’t been true but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.

“I love you too.” It was a whisper, too scared and small to come from Phryne Fisher, but she was smiling up at him with an expression so soft, he felt his own tears prickle the corners of his eyes.

Their kiss this time was slow and deep, he felt her cool fingers stroking gently at the nape of his neck, her other hand smoothing his waist and the small of his back. He let his hands wander, untying the strings of the starched pinafore she had purloined – and the less he knew about that the better – and unbuttoning the dress beneath it. The silk lingerie he uncovered when she pulled the rough wool off over her head was definitely not part of the uniform. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry and this time when Phryne’s hands came up to untie his dressing gown, he did nothing to stop her.

He had only just emerged from the bath when she arrived and had yet to put on pyjamas. Phryne was looking at his naked body with a hungry expression that was both flattering and a little terrifying. She licked her lips, eyes on his, and slowly trailed a hand down his chest to take him in her hand. The expletive that left his lips as she began to stroke him marked the end of any attempt to be a gentleman and before he knew what he was doing he had lifted her bodily and placed her on the bed.

His hands roamed freely under the silk of her negligée to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her moan his name. Damn she was exquisite. He pulled the blush silk off over her head, leaving her in tap pants and stockings, and bent in to cover her nipple with his mouth, groaning in pleasure as her flavour hit his tongue. He felt her back arch, pushing her breast further into his mouth.

_“Oh, god, Jack!”_

He would never get enough of hearing her say his name like that, a course whisper that stroked his skin – not to mention his ego – he switched breasts, hoping to hear it again. She responded by grabbing his hand and forcing it between her legs where he found wet silk and a disappointing absence of buttons. It was the work of a moment to remove her offending – but otherwise lovely – underwear and slide his fingers down to where she wanted them.

It had been a very long time since he had done this and if his brain had been in charge it might have occurred to him to be nervous. Luckily, he was for once taking orders exclusively from an organ somewhat lower down and had pulled both of Phryne’s still stockinged legs over his shoulders and buried his tongue as deep as he could in her soft flesh before he could consider the possibility that he might blunder.

Surrounded by the scent and taste of bliss, he used his fingers to stroke her clitoris, listening in delight to the panting, desperate sounds she was making as he fucked her with tongue and fingers. Before long they became pleas and he could feel the pull of her hands in his hair and the bucking of her hips as she strained to find release. He moved his tongue up to caress her clitoris with swift, hard strokes, pressing two fingers deep inside her and raised his eyes up to watch as she shattered, her face flushed, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of pleasure. He honestly couldn’t remember being prouder of anything he had done in his life before – although to be fair his brain was still a few steps behind – and the happy, sated little laugh she gave as she opened satisfied eyes to look at him might just have been the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

***

Phryne’s body was humming with release, her muscles lax and what was probably an appallingly besotted smile on her face. She pulled Jack up towards her so she could kiss him in thanks, loving the taste of herself on his tongue.

“Mmmm. That was just what I needed. You really have quite the talent.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I’m a little rusty.”

The smug smile he was wearing suggested that was false modesty, for which Phryne had no time whatsoever, even from him.

“Really? In that case feel free to practice any time. It is important to keep one’s skills honed.”

“How very generous of you.”

He was still smirking, and she could feel the hot, hard weight of his erection against her hip. She had plans for that delightful cock now that she had finally managed to make its acquaintance. It really had been far too long since she had had a man in her bed. Her one slightly inebriated attempt to drown her sorrows in the arms of an attractive young Viscount she had met at a party had come to nothing. The man had been charming and an excellent dancer, but his kisses had made her feel nothing but homesick, and she had declined his offer of a more intimate encounter without regret. There had been no point lying to herself, there was only one man she wanted, and she was in too deep for distractions, however entertaining.

The man in question was currently entertaining himself by kissing his way lazily across the column of her neck and stroking the still sensitive skin of her hips and belly with those talented fingers. She rolled him onto his back, the better to admire him; his smooth skin, all gold and cream, was freckled slightly on his arms where the sun had caught it. The light smattering of hair across his chest tapered off into a thin line which lead directly to an erection that had her licking her lips in anticipation; thick and hard with a slight slant to the left as it rose against his belly. Gorgeous.

He did not seem at all ashamed in his nakedness, she had noticed that when he was in his bathers at Queenscliff, he was so confident and relaxed – she would have expected such a private man to be nervous without his protective layers. It was the same now, he seemed not only at home in her bed, but fully ready to accept that she liked what she saw. It was abundantly clear from the way he was looking at her that he felt the same way. His expression suggested he was contemplating new and inventive sins to commit, and the thought made her shiver in anticipation.

“Enjoying the sights, Miss Fisher?”

“Oh yes.” She reached down to take him in her hand once again, loving the way his eyes darkened and his breath caught at her touch. “Nelson’s Column in particular.”

“Come here.”

He pulled her up until she was straddling his hips, which bucked slightly against her as her as her wet flesh made contact with his cock. There was a high flush riding his cheeks and for all his apparent confidence he was beginning to look a little overwrought.

“Do we need protection? I have some French letters in my case?”

“Planning ahead Inspector?”

“I seem to remember you saying you like a man with a plan.”

“I do indeed, but in this case it won’t be necessary. I made plans of my own.”

“Good.”

His voice was cracking now, and he bucked his hips against her again, clearly increasingly desperate to be inside her. It was a heady feeling to be the one to bring out such passion in her staid and respectable Detective Inspector. She wanted him so badly, had done for so very long, and finally there was nothing to hold them back. She raised her hips and sank onto him, their collective sigh of pleasure and relief at finally being joined was cut off by the sudden need to kiss until they were breathless.

Their first time was slow and close.

Phryne rocked against him, pressing her swollen clitoris into his pelvis as she squeezed him from the inside, kissing his mouth, his jaw, the skin of his neck, breathing in that scent of home she had missed so much. He rolled her onto her back and took up the rhythm, slow but deeper now, building a fire that began between her legs and spread until her every nerve was aflame, his name a whispered curse as she was lost to the conflagration.

She was still wearing her stockings and her legs were slipping in the sweat on his hips; her climax, once started, seemed to go on forever, rolling and sweeping through her until she was grasping at his back and squeezing the taught flesh of his buttocks, urging him to go harder, faster, more and more and…

Her vision dissolved into a vague swirl of meaningless colour and she heard herself cry out; confessions of undying love tangled in expletives and the sound of his name. Her eyes refocused just in time to see him follow her, jaw clenched against the feral roar his climax ripped from him. He let his weight rest on her for a moment and she held him close as he softened insider her, feeling certain she would never want to let him go.

***

It was eventually necessary to let go, if only to enjoy the supper Phryne had brought with her; cold meats and warm gratin washed down with champagne. It was a much more interesting supper than the one Jack had ordered, and Phryne insisted she would pay for it in the morning.

“I assumed you had stolen it along with that uniform. I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.” He remarked, popping a large piece of ham into his mouth.

“Not stolen Jack, borrowed.”

He raised his eyebrows in invitation for her to explain and she continued.

“I was talking to the concierge, trying to get him to give me your room number which he was stubbornly refusing to do.”

“Glad to see someone values my privacy, although I’m even gladder to see it didn’t put you off.”

She tilted her head with an acknowledging smirk and took a sip from per champagne coupe.

“Yes, well, as I was talking to him, I overheard one of the staff order up a warm milk and a ham cheese and mustard pickle sandwich to room 11.”

“And I am of course the only man in the world fond of that particular combination.”

“It seemed a more promising lead than the concierge at any rate. So, I made a show of leaving in a huff then wandered round the back towards the kitchens where I found two maids having a smoke.”

“And you roped them into your nefarious scheme?”

His eyes twinkled at the thought, though his face remained otherwise serious. She loved the way he had of appearing to chastise her whilst his eyes said something else entirely.

“They were more than happy to oblige I assure you,” she continued. “I swapped clothes with one, gave the two of them ten pounds and suggested they enjoy a night on the town. I’m to put the uniform in the wash in the morning and my clothes from last night will be cleaned and delivered with breakfast.”

“All very ingenious, but I’d still like to know why you felt the need to go to so much trouble. We already had plans for tomorrow night. Not that I’m complaining.”

“I wanted to see you of course.” She knew as she said it that the upwards inflection had given her away.

He waited. Jack was very good at silence and he was looking at her with a soft, expectant expression that she had no hope of lying to. She snuggled into his chest, stroking his warm skin, drawing more comfort from his nearness that she would readily admit to aloud.

“It’s been difficult…my parents. Well you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my father…”

Her family was a difficult subject for her, the conflicting emotions of love, old animosities, guilt, resentment and the binding closeness of shared trauma, were twisted together in a Gordian knot she could never hope to untangle. Jack cut through it without the need for exposition.

“I take it the Baron has not warmed to the idea of letting you arrange his finances.”

“Well mother helped to talk him round to some extent but he’s still being insufferable about it and she’s…I’m… I’m not myself around her.”

Jack had noticed that when Henry Fisher had arrived in Melbourne. Phryne’s normal air of effortless confidence had been replaced by a frustration and anger that could edge into panic at the slightest provocation. He had no idea what her mother was like but from the way Phryne had dropped everything to save her parent’s marriage, he had assumed that she was at least on better terms with her than with her father.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me…for Janey.”

A chill of anger, that he took care not to show, shot through him. He had a very low opinion of the Baron but her own mother, blaming her child for the sins of a murderer and a madman, was something he had not expected. Jack cupped Phryne’s face in his broad palm and raised it up, so she could meet his eyes.

“You know that was not your fault Phryne. Murdoch Foyle is the only one to blame and he’s dead – thanks in no small part to you. You were the one who found her after all this time and at huge risk to your own safety. Surely your mother knows that?”

Phryne shook her head, blinking back tears. It was only now that she was away from her parents’ suffocating presence that she realised how much this had been weighing on her. She was not ordinarily a woman prone to tears; she fought them back, refusing to give in to them.

“I’ve always known I would never be the daughter she wants. But I must say, after two months of being told I’m too loud, too old, too ugly and I’ll never find a husband, her company is beginning to wear somewhat thin.”

She tried to make it sound like a joke – it was a joke – her mother’s criticisms were ridiculous, and no-one knew that better than she did, but it was Jack’s look of mingled outrage and utter bafflement that really made her laugh. As if the very idea that someone could recognise her as anything less than the walking incarnation of temptation itself was simply not something he had ever considered. He smiled with her, taking the opportunity to steal a kiss, unable to resist and feeling an unaccustomed urge to make sure she knew it.

“Apparently your prestigious powers of observation come from your father’s side of the family, then. I’m even more worried about meeting her now, if that’s how she talks to you I can’t imagine what she’ll make of me.”

“Oh, she’ll have our wedding planned out before we’ve finished introductions. Perhaps we should run whilst we still can.”

“I hear Kuala Lumpur is beautiful this time of year.”

“Trying to leave so soon Antonio? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were running from something yourself. Not hiding a criminal record on this side of the world, are you?”

“Just trying to keep up with you, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him, she had known her partner long enough to recognise when he was hiding something. Jack shrugged uncomfortably and rolled his eyes.

“Drunk and disorderly.” He coughed and blushed a little. “And theft of a policeman’s helmet. Rather foolish really given that I had my own at home. The gendarme let us off with a warning.”

Phryne cackled with laughter at the thought of Jack as a wayward youth, blowing off steam after finally escaping the horror of the trenches. She was willing to bet he had been beautiful and probably utterly insufferable with it. He was still beautiful, and as far as she was concerned, she would suffer him gladly for as long as he would let her.

“Mmmm, I always suspected you had a dark past, Inspector.”

She kissed him, softly, still smiling, and marvelled at the way a single evening seemed to have washed away the heavy, grey miasma clogging her soul like the fog on the city streets. She felt lighter, wide awake and ready to take on the world again. Although when Jack’s fingers made their way once again between her thighs, she decided firmly that the world would have to wait until morning. Right now, they had a great deal of catching up to do.


End file.
